


The Big Conversation

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cussing, Easter Eggs, Gen, Humor, Memes, Swearing, Trolling, being an idiot on the internet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 19:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4932637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Decepticons have a social networking site.  Now Brainstorm asks Ultra Magnus for permission to keep his login name, Misfire wants everyone to know that this is how he t'rolls, and Tarn stays up all night because Someone Is Being A Traitor On The Internet.  Humour fic. (More tags to be added as chapters go up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Someone Is Being A Traitor On The Internet

**Author's Note:**

> The fact that there's a Decepticon social networking site was absolutely irresistible to a former message board moderator. I really couldn't not.
> 
> Mostly a gen fic. Mild reference to Tarn/Deathsaurus flirting. References to what the DJD do for a living but no details, no gore, no on-screen violence.
> 
> Each installment starts with the name of the person who's providing the point of view for that chapter.

~ Deathsaurus ~

“Tarn?” Deathsaurus rubbed at his lower optics, then his upper optics. He was groggy and barely awake. “It’s the middle of recharge cycle.” And Deathsaurus been woken up, first by the glow from his desktop computer, then by the realization that Tarn was sitting in his command chair typing furiously rather than sleeping next to him. What could be so important that it needed Tarn’s attention in the middle of the night, but wasn’t important enough to necessitate waking him up to assist? “Come back to the berth.”

“I can’t,” Tarn answered with frustration. “ _Someone is being a traitor on the internet._ ”

Deathsaurus reset his optics while he tried to parse that statement. By the time his optical sensors were back online, Tarn’s comment still hadn’t made any more sense. Sighing, Deathsaurus got out of the berth and went to take a peek over Tarn’s shoulder. 

_The Big Conversation: A Social Networking Site for Decepticons_ , said the banner at the top of the page. Deathsaurus knew it well, but he had no idea Tarn had any interest in sites like this. Somehow it didn’t suit the image he had of the DJD’s commander.

Tarn had a long paragraph typed into the reply box. Deathsaurus checked the title of the thread that Tarn was replying to: _What are we without Megatron?_

It looked like quite a rant that Tarn had crafted, and Deathsaurus didn’t want it posted under his name. Deathsaurus almost asked what login Tarn was using, but he caught himself just in time and slid his gaze sideways to check for himself.

Tarn was logged in as…

Deathsaurus’s breath caught in his intakes.

“Are you seriously,” he said instead, “staying up all night to argue with idiots on an online forum?”

“He’s _wrong_ ,” Tarn insisted, gesturing angrily at the screen. “ _Alliance with the Autobots_ is not and never _will_ be an answer, and it’s _criminal_ to say so.”

“Except that, legally speaking, it’s _not_ ,” Deathsaurus answered warily. “The war’s over.” He wondered if he’d ever tell Tarn that he’d actually discharged some of his troops—the ones who wanted to settle down to civilian lives.

“It’s _repulsive,_ and the war’s over when I say it’s over.”

Deathsaurus groaned. He didn’t want to point out that Tarn’s authority was drived solely from a combination of his fearsome reputation, the fact that Deathsaurus endorsed him as Emperor, and his own claim to the title. Getting the rest of the Decepticons to buy in was going to take some doing.

Instead of opening that can of scraplets when he ought to be sleeping, Deathsaurus checked the username of the poster who Tarn was responding to: weirdw0lfiam. Of course. With a language pattern as distinctive as Weirdwolf’s, he might as well sign his own name. Most other users made up online “handles” to keep their identity anonymous. Tarn’s, for example, was the innocuous _Eucryphia_.

“You do realize,” Deathsaurus said slowly, “that Weirdwolf is on Cybertron and, faced with a choice between Starscream, the unaligned masses who’ve flooded the place, the new colonists, and the Autobots, Weirdwolf probably considers that standing by the Prime on a temporary basis is his best chance for autonomy, continued survival, and most importantly, the opportunity to do something for the Cause further down the line? Notice that he said alliance, not _become an Autobot_ , even though the Reintegration Act is still in effect. Noble sacrifice is all well and good, but surviving long enough to be in a position to effect real change is also important.”

Tarn shot Deathsaurus an angry glare.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Deathsaurus said.

Tarn snorted. “I can’t tolerate this kind of disgusting collusion with the enemy.” He looked back at the screen. “And I also can’t tolerate being called, and I quote, “ _a reactionary zealot living in a Simanzi-era fantasy world_.”

Deathsaurus sighed. “Are we seriously leaving _Megatron_ go, and ignoring the threat posed by the Galactic Council, to put Weirdwolf on the List, go to Cybertron, and execute somebody for shooting his mouth off on the internet?”

“No,” Tarn growled. “I know my real life priorities.”

“So is your real life priority now to come back to the berth and rest before tomorrow’s weapons purchase?” Deathsaurus asked hopefully.

“No,” Tarn retorted, returning his attention to the screen. “Not before I teach weirdw0lfiam the error of his ways.”


	2. 4 Great Justice

~ Kaon ~

One day later, Kaon was hard at work in his hab suite, running simulations of the afternoon’s weapons purchase and wondering how it had all gone so wrong. 

It should have been a straightforward deal: goods from the Warworld in exchange for the seller’s weapons. The goods were stolen— _sacked_ , more precisely, from a number of worlds—but they were all authentic, high-quality, fully operational items. Kaon and Jalguar had checked them over carefully. 

And yet, for some unknown reason, the seller had become agitated, accusing the Decepticons of trying to rip him off, and for another inexplicable reason Tarn had _not_ stepped up to use his powers of persuasion. He’d looked as though he were off in his own little world, oblivious to the current negotiations. Instead Deathsaurus had gotten up in the seller’s face and snarled that either they were going to proceed with the deal as discussed or they were going to have _trouble_. The seller had whipped out a Calibrian shattergun and things had gotten ugly fast. 

Now Vos was laid up in the med bay with a leg in need of replacement, Killbison was in the brig for ripping the seller’s smug little face off, and almost half of the weapons had been destroyed, along with a portion of the goods. Helex and Guyhawk were down in stores, trying to sort through what they had salvaged and what they’d lost. And Kaon was up here, with one of his coils out of operation, trying to figure out what in the Pit had gone wrong.

He’d just gotten a report back from the translation software—maybe they’d been using the wrong dialect, and accidentally insulted the seller—when a sudden surge of electricity made Kaon wince. He wasn’t usually bothered by his own powers, but he also didn’t usually have someone messing with his coils.

He glared at Nickel over his shoulder.

She put her hands on her hips and glared back at him. Kaon noticed she was standing on a chair to reach his coils.

“Can that wait?” Kaon asked peevishly.

Nickel put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know,” Nickel retorted. “Can you guarantee that seller hasn’t got friends coming after us?”

It was unlikely that a weapons dealer’s friends could menace an entire Warworld, but no, Kaon couldn’t _guarantee_ it. Which meant he might need to be in fighting trim sooner rather than later. Kaon pressed his lips together and didn’t answer.

“I thought not,” Nickel said with satisfaction, and resumed her tinkering with Kaon’s damaged coil. “This shouldn’t take too much longer.”

Kaon returned his attention to the simulator, and just then there was a knock on his door.

He checked his security camera instead. Deathsaurus.

That was a surprise. Kaon didn’t know why Deathsaurus would be coming to talk to him instead of to Tarn. Unless…

Kaon was Tarn’s _amica endura_ and had been for a very long time, since the days when they’d assembled the DJD together _._ Deathsaurus was the DJD’s new ally, the field marshal of the Decepticon forces under Tarn, and if rumour around the Warworld was to be believed, there was also something _personal_ going on between Deathsaurus and Tarn. Kaon hoped this wasn’t the prelude to the Big Conversation. He’d been dreading an awkward showdown between long-term _amica_ and hopeful _conjunx_ over where Tarn’s affections should lie. 

“How’s the coils?” he murmured.

“Grit your teeth,” Nickel said.

Kaon did. Just in time. A wash of pain flooded his circuits, followed by a crackle of electricity. Then, all of a sudden, his coils began to hum as they usually did.

“Online,” Nickel said with obvious satisfaction.

Kaon didn’t want to fight Deathsaurus, but if he had to, he felt a lot better knowing he was armed. “Thanks,” he said to Nickel, and opened the door to the chamber.

Deathsaurus stepped through and closed the door behind him before he took a deep breath and faced Kaon. “I’m worried about Tarn,” the rogue commander blurted.

Kaon raised a ridge over a nonexistent optic. That didn’t sound like the prelude to a fight.

“What’s wrong?” Nickel snapped. Kaon knew her aggression was a shield for insecurity, but she certainly sounded aggrieved as she growled, “Does he need a doctor?”

“I don’t know,” Deathsaurus said, weaving his talons together. “He was acting very strange last night, and again tonight, and I could tell his mind wasn’t on the mission today.”

Nickel made a noise in her throat. “Let me guess. Constant transformations?”

“Er…no.”

“Bingeing on engex and sweets with Eucryphia’s Greatest Symphonies playing on endless loop?” 

“No?”

“Was he doing…”

Kaon clapped a hand over her mouth before she could mention the word _nuke_. That was still classified. “Describe what you mean by _strange_.”

Deathsaurus’s wings drooped. “Shitposting on The Big Conversation all night long. And he’s doing it _again_ right _now_.”

“Oh.” Kaon groaned and glanced heavenward. “ _That_.”

“Has he done this before?” Deathsaurus fidgeted. “What should I do?”

Kaon let out a long, low vent. “Let it go. He’s obviously in a mood and there’s worse things for him to be doing. At least he won’t be burning out his t-cog or snarling at anyone to go get him another case of candy that probably isn’t available out here on the Rim.”

Deathsaurus looked unconvinced. 

“Just give him a few days. He’ll blow off some steam, get it out of his system, and go back to normal.”

The rogue commander bowed his head. “Okay. I trust you.”

That wasn’t so bad. Kaon began to feel a sense of relief. “Is there anything else, Deathsaurus?”

“Yeah.” The big Decepticon lifted his head. “Are any of you guys _really_ username 4GreatJustice?”


	3. Board Rules

~ Nickel ~

“Er, _no_ ,” Kaon said to Deathsaurus, but Nickel barely heard. She was too caught up with her own question.

“What’s The Big Conversation?”

Deathsaurus blinked, all four optics at once. He pointed down at Nickel. “She doesn’t use the internet much, does she?”

Nickel scowled. Kaon cut her off before she could call Deathsaurus out for being the presumptious clutch-muncher he was. Pushing his way into their tightly-knit crew, monopolizing Tarn’s attention, always on the borderline between innovation and outright rule-breaking, she wasn’t yet certain she could trust him. 

“She came from a long-lost colony world,” Kaon said. “Prion had a very unique culture.”

Nickel put her hands on her hips. “We had radios, and comm links, and computers, but we believed that social interaction should be conducted in person. Long-range communications were strictly for business and emergency purposes. Not entertainment.”

“So you _can_ use the Internet, you just don’t unless you have to?” Deathsaurus inquired.

“I said _believed_ , past tense, for a reason,” Nickel growled. She hesitated, then added, “Dipshit.”

Deathsaurus raised an optic ridge.

Kaon tactfully rose from his chair and placed himself between Nickel and the potentially angry Warworld captain. Nickel felt a rush of gratitude. She knew she was pushing it too far, but she couldn’t help herself sometimes.

Then Deathsaurus laughed. “Oh, she is going to fit right _in_ ,” he snickered, and then he smiled wickedly at Nickel. “I’ll bet you a hundred shanix that you get suspended within a week.”

“It’s a bet,” Nickel retorted, just to piss off this presumptious outsider, and then she leaned over Kaon’s shoulder, teetering dangerously on the chair she stood on. “What’s suspended mean?”

Kaon sighed. “The Big Conversation is a Decepticon social networking site. A place to meet people, discuss topics, share interests and make friends. A virtual community, if you will. But if you don’t mind your manners, you get your posting privileges suspended for a certain time, until you cool off. If you keep breaking the rules, or break them badly enough, you get banned.”

Nickel blinked. Was this bet really going to be that easy? “What gets you banned? The same things that get you on the List?”

Deathsaurus giggled. Kaon shot him a dirty look.

“Disrespecting the owner and admin staff, hacking the site, running scams, and impersonating other users gets you instantly banned,” Kaon explained, “but most people are banned for acquiring three suspensions within a year, typically for lesser offenses like instigating fights, disrespecting Decepticon high command, making content-less posts, posting inappropriate images…” Kaon watched Deathsaurus fight for breath. “Though I think Deathsaurus is specifically amused by the board rules against swearing and flaming other users.”

Nickel was appalled. “What kind of fragging shithole won’t let people fragging express themselves?” 

Deathsaurus broke out into hysterical laughter.

“I hope you have a hundred shanix,” Kaon said dryly.

“Fuck,” Nickel grumbled. 


	4. Guess My Alt ID

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely certain if this fic is in any kind of continuity with the "Waltz with the Devil" series, but if it's an alternate universe, it's still one in which Misfire can own Tesarus at Cogs of Combat, and Tes remains oblivious as to the true identity of "Simfire the Deathbringer."

Guess My Alt ID

~ Tesarus ~

Poor Vos. Nickel had patched him up and he was going to be fine, but he still wasn’t comfortable, stretched out on a berth in the med bay, injured and exposed, rather than skulking around the shadows as was his usual preference. Tesarus had kept him company until he’d fallen into recharge. 

It wasn’t as boring as it sounded; Tesarus had his portable game console to entertain himself while his teammate rested. Now Vos was resting comfortably, but Tesarus was in the middle of a winning streak and he wasn’t inclined to get up and leave as long as his game was going so well.

Unfortunately, right in the middle of a boss battle, his comm pinged.

He quickly checked to see who it was. Kaon. Kaon was not Tarn. Kaon could wait.

Even that short distraction had been enough to let his adversary get a shot in on his character. Tes grunted and unleashed a combo attack.

His comm pinged again. His timing was just a little too soon. The combo attack missed, and his character got shot again.

He knew he wasn’t going to beat this boss now, so he swore, exited the game, and answered his comm.

“Tesarus, can you get up to my office, please?” Kaon asked. “Nickel wants some help setting up her login on The Big Conversation and I’m _trying_ to run some simulations here.”

Tesarus huffed. He wished Kaon could’ve waited just five minutes longer… Still, he got up and obediently headed for Kaon’s office. He wanted to stay on Nickel’s good side, and since he was the DJD’s resident IT staff, Nickel was going to have to be nice to him if she wanted his help.

He heard a strange sound on his way up the hall. Someone he didn’t recognize, laughing his aft off. What in the frag was going on?

Tesarus hustled the rest of the way to Kaon’s office and stuck his head through the door. There was Kaon, running the sims he’d mentioned, and there was Nickel, sitting on a chair behind him and frowning at a laptop, but Tesarus really hadn’t been expecting the third person. Deathsaurus had draped himself across Kaon’s couch—the place where Tesarus and Helex usually sat during briefings—and if Tesarus wasn’t mistaken, the Warworld’s commander was responsible for the laughter.

Tesaurus felt put out. He and Helex really didn’t like Deathsaurus very much. Helex still had sludge in his smelter about the fact that someone who’d up until very recently been on the List was now allegedly their ally. Tesarus didn’t care about that. What Tesaurus didn’t like was the way Deathsaurus followed Tarn around. The looks he gave him. The way his wings kept “accidentally” brushing up against Tarn’s treads.

The way Tarn looked at Deathsaurus.

Tarn was Tesarus’s team leader and was supposed to be above slag like that, or at the very least, ought to keep it discreet. Tesarus really did not want to see his boss mooning around over a…a beast former.

And Tesarus did not want to have to be buddy-buddy with Deathsaurus on his time off.

Deathsaurus rolled to a sitting position, making room for Tesarus. Tesarus couldn’t tell him to get lost, so he had to make do, though he shot a look at Kaon on the way by, silently asking why Deathsaurus was hanging out in his office.

“C’mere, Nickel, and show me what you’ve got,” Tesarus invited.

As Nickel brought her laptop over, scrunching herself in between Tesarus and Deathsaurus on the couch, Deathsaurus wiped his optics, all four of which had fogged over from his laughing fit. “Hey Kaon, how about username AndJustice4All? Is that any of you guys?” 

Kaon sighed. “No. Do you really think we’d log onto The Big Conversation as ourselves?”

Deathsaurus wheezed. “Honestly, I’m surprised that any of you lot waste time on that site at all.”

Kaon sniffed. “The original idea was that I would monitor the site in order to identify individuals harbouring potentially traitorous thoughts. We would then flag these individuals for observation to ascertain if any of them were acting on those thoughts, and if so, add them to the List at ranks befitting their crimes. _Clearly_ if we joined as ourselves, under our DJD code names, everyone would be too frightened to say anything seditious and it would entirely defeat the point.”

“Who are you posting as…no, _wait_ , let me guess. Username ride_the_lightning?”

Tesarus reminded himself once again that Deathsaurus might be rebellious and unpredictable and moody, with a strange sense of humour and some truly savage behaviours, but he was a very long way from stupid, and it would be to the DJD’s sorrow if they confused _chaotic, independent-minded, uncivilized and mercurial_ with _dumb_. 

“Very good,” Kaon admitted.

“And Vos would be username 1shot1kill.”

Tesarus’s estimation of Deathsaurus’s intelligence went up another notch. 

Kaon nodded. “I’m surprised you figured that out. Vos doesn’t post much.”

“He’s also the only sniper whose phrasing sounds like it got ran through a translator a couple times.”

“Point,” Kaon sighed. 

Tesarus didn’t like watching Deathsaurus get the better of Kaon. “Hey, beaky. Bet you can’t guess who _I_ am _._ ”

Deathsaurus shot him an angry glare. Obviously he didn’t like being called _beaky_. Tesarus filed that one away for future abuse.

Deathsaurus stroked his chin thoughtfully, and then he grinned wickedly. “GrindXHouse.”

“Yeah, but do you know who _else_ I am?”

Deathsaurus and Kaon both looked surprised. Kaon spluttered, “Wait, you’ve got an alt?”

Tesarus couldn’t help it. He started to giggle.

Deathsaurus looked confounded. “Er…Death2Traitors?”

“Nah, that’s Ruckus.” Tesarus snorted. “By Mortilus, talk about wannabes.”

Deathsaurus raised an optic ridge.

Kaon explained, “Ruckus is rather infamous for wanting very, very, very badly to join the DJD, and we will never, never, never take him.”

Deathsaurus thought hard. “How about On_Like_Megatron?”

Tesarus smirked. “Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s one of Soundwave’s alts. One more guess!”

“51Mf1r3_+h3_d3A+hbR1nG3r?”

Tesarus saw his vision flash red. “Do _not_ mention that name to me. Simfire _totally_ cheats at Cogs of Combat, _hax_ , and if I ever find out who it is, I’m putting him on the List so fast, I _swear_ …”

“He’s probably Sixshot,” Kaon said dryly. “Or one of his alts, since Sixshot’s main login is username 666Shot.”

Deathsaurus looked frustrated. “I give up. Tesarus, what’s your alt?”

Tesarus started giggling again.

Kaon looked bewildered. Deathsaurus, confused, pointed to Tesarus. Kaon shrugged—he didn’t know either.

“Bet you guys didn’t know,” Tesarus spluttered, “that I’m username TheRealDJD.” He leaned back against the couch and snickered until his spinal strut felt weak.

“You’re _what_?” Kaon demanded.

Nickel finally looked up from the laptop. “What’s so funny about TheRealDJD?”

Deathsaurus rolled all four of his optics. “TheRealDJD is an infamous troll who goes into threads and posts inane messages like “coming 2 kill u! :)” and “ur on TEH LIST!!1!eleven!”

Kaon scowled. “That was _you_?”

“Yeah,” Tesarus chuckled.

“You’re an idiot,” Deathsaurus growled. “I don’t know why you haven’t been permanently banned for that nonsense.”

Tesarus shrugged. “Alt IP’s.”

Deathsaurus narrowed his eyes, and looked as though he were about to say something hostile about bypassing board bans. 

Except that Kaon beat him to the punch. “Tesarus, _what were you thinking_?”

“Oh, cool your coils,” Tesarus said. “Do you think anyone would believe that TheRealDJD was, you know, _actually_ a real member of the DJD? Of _course_ they wouldn’t. _That’s why it’s funny_.”

Kaon glanced upwards. “I will _never_ understand online humour.”


	5. Can I Keep My Account

~ Ultra Magnus ~

Ultra Magnus was not entirely certain he was comfortable with having a former Decepticon double agent on board.

Legally, of course, he had no grounds on which to lodge a complaint. Brainstorm could claim the Reintegration Act, just as Deadlock… _Drift_ …had. Brainstorm might not even need to go that far, come to think of it. Ravage was on board, still wearing purple badges. 

Ravage being allowed to stay, at large, as a member of the crew had been Megatron’s decision. Megatron had argued it on the grounds that the _Lost Light_ was technically a neutral vessel. Ultra Magnus had stayed awake for two days straight looking for a technicality he couldn’t find. On a ship where Megatron was captain, logical objections to Ravage tended to lose traction.

Still, Rodimus and Ultra Magnus had insisted on reasonable precautions when dealing with Brainstorm. Brainstorm was to be supervised while working in his lab. His time cases were to be destroyed. He was to break off contact with his Decepticon handler. 

Now Brainstorm stood in front of Ultra Magnus’s desk, reporting on his conditions of release. Ultra Magnus had already verified with Perceptor that the time cases were accounted for, and with Blaster that Brainstorm had officially severed all ties with the Decepticons, including turning over all passcodes, frequencies, names, and contact methods. But he wanted to hear Brainstorm _say it_.

Ultra Magnus was about to give Brainstorm permission to carry on his duties when Brainstorm suddenly fidgeted. “Ah…”

“Yes?” Ultra Magnus frowned. “Is there something further.”

“Uh, yeah. Can I keep my account on The Big Conversation?”

Ultra Magnus’s frown deepened. “What is The Big Conversation?”

“It’s a Decepticon social networking site. Not like battle plans or anything like that. Mostly just mechs goofing off on the internet.”

Brainstorm tried to make it sound harmless, but Ultra Magnus wasn’t so sure. _Goofing off on the internet_ sounded like a highly suspicious activity to him. Goofing off on a _Decepticon_ site sounded even worse.

“Show me this site.”

“Okay. But, uh, can we do it on the bridge? Where Blaster can supervise me?”

“We are not going to risk the bridge computers getting contaminated by viruses. We are going to do it on…Rodimus’s computer. And we will call Blaster to join us.”

“Rodimus’s computer?” Brainstorm looked surprised. His gaze fell to Ultra Magnus’s desktop computer. 

Which Ultra Magnus was _not_ exposing to Decepticon viruses, thank you very much. “For command oversight,” Magnus said. That sounded convincing, didn’t it?

Five minutes later Brainstorm sat in front of Rodimus’s computer with Ultra Magnus glancing sternly over his left shoulder, Blaster leaning against the desk to his right, and Rodimus doodling on the corner of the desk, barely paying attention. “Log in to this site you were talking about,” Magnus ordered.

Brainstorm typed in the URL, gww.thebigconversation.con, and hit enter. A login screen came up:

Welcome to THE BIG CONVERSATION

A Social Networking Site for Decepticons

LOG IN

or

SIGN UP ^

^ Sign ups restricted to members and associate members of the Decepticons ONLY! Identification is required to complete sign up.

Ultra Magnus raised an optic ridge. “Associate members?”

“Y’know, alien allies and stuff,” Brainstorm explained. “People who aren’t exactly Decepticons, but they wanted ‘em to feel like they “belonged.” PowerGlove is this human named Dr. Arkeville, and OneForTheMoney is a Kheperan who runs a casino on Monacus.”

Ultra Magnus nodded. “Continue.”

Brainstorm typed in:

USERNAME: TheGunShow

PASSWORD: iamagenius!

Blaster giggled. Ultra Magnus shot him a look that, he hoped, made his disapproval clear. He didn’t need Blaster encouraging Brainstorm in any way. 

WELCOME, TheGunShow! said a message on the screen.

FORUMS

**THE WELCOME MAT**

WELCOME TO THE BIG CONVERSATION

A getting-to-know-you forum for newcomers. Introduce yourself and meet all our community members!

BOARD RULES  
“An organization will rise and fall on the strength of its internal administration.” Words of wisdom from one of our moderators. In other words: READ THEM. 

*

**DISCUSSION FORUMS**

GENERAL DISCUSSION

What it says on the can. For everything that doesn’t fit in one of the below sub forums.

WAR STORIES

Talk about your contribution to the Decepticon war effort! UPDATE: Talk about what you did back when the war was going on. The Big Conversation will not be held responsible for any “War Stories” that may constitute evidence and/or confessions in any jurisdiction.

THE THEATRE  
Discuss holos, movies, books, and more, here!

  
THE GALLERY

Show off your creative and artistic works here!

THE R&D LAB

Our forum for techies, engineers and other nerds.

THE ARMOURY  
Weapons appreciation and discussion.

THE ENCLAVE

The Enclave is our main forum for political and philosophical discussion. KEEP IT CIVIL. Please note The Big Conversation will not be liable for any real life consequences you may suffer as a result of voicing your opinion. 

BEHIND THE SUPPLY SHED

This is a humor forum and a place to let loose and have a good laugh. Keep in mind that although the atmosphere may be more relaxed in here, board rules still apply. 

*

**ENFORCERS’ DEN**

THE CLINK

Index of users who have received disciplinary action and/or bans. 

ASK THE ENFORCERS

Got a question for the staff, or an idea on how we could improve the site? Let us know. THIS IS NOT A FORUM FOR REPORTING INFRACTIONS. Use the REPORT button.

Brainstorm looked up at Ultra Magnus questioningly.

Ultra Magnus sighed. “Proceed. Just…do what you’d ordinarily do and let us observe.”

Magnus expected him to visit “The R&D Lab,” but he passed right by it in favour of “The Armoury.” 

A list of topics became visible. Accompanying each heading was the user name of the thread’s creator. Ultra Magnus began at the beginning.

**THE ARMOURY**

StrategyNotTactics: Where on Cybertron can you buy guns these days? Looking for dealer

Brake-Neck: What kind of weapons do Camiens have??

WaldorfBuzzard: Human weaponry is puny LOL

Brainstorm scrolled down too quickly to read and selected a thread. The page loaded:

TheGunShow: Check out my sweet sparkeater gun!

Ultra Magnus sighed and read the comments underneath.

  
decepticongraffiti: that’s so amazing. You are a genius. You invent the best stuff

Interrogatacopter: that’s awesome IF it works. Video demo plz???

kingoftheroad: spark eaters don’t exist

decepticongraffiti: where can we get one? Please tell me you are selling

Amuckin’around: cheap I hope, we’re broke bro

51Mf1r3_+h3_d3A+hbR1nG3r: Sparkeaters TOTALLY exist. I know a guy who saw one once, also, if they don’t exist then what’s in THIS picture (link) or THIS video (link)??

Mixxxmaster: what happens if the blast from the gun hits you? I’m with Vortex, I want to see a video.

Interrogatacopter: frag off Mixmaster, if I wanted to use my real designation on this board, I’d have made it my username

Mixxxmaster: scrap you

Interrogatacopter: you were just too dumb to even think about using another name online

Architecture_of_Aggression: get real, Vortex, everyone knows that’s u

so-high-above-you: leave him alone, Hook and Mixmaster, or I will punch you BOTH

Mixxxmaster: frag you too, Blast Off, I’m not scared of you

so-high-above-you: what are you going to do, go crying to Prowl

Eucryphia (Moderator): Knock off the squabbling or I’ll convene the mod team on the lot of you

Mixxxmaster: sorry Cryph

so-high-above-you: lol

Architecture_of_Aggression: shut up

Ultra Magnus looked to the ceiling. “And you want to be a member of this board, _why_?”

“Hang on,” Brainstorm said. “Further down this thread there’s a few more people calling me a genius.”


	6. Assuming You're Not All Secret Decepticons

~ Blaster ~

Blaster himself had been wondering why Brainstorm cared so much about this ridiculous Decepticon site which, as far as Blaster was concerned, was neither as interesting as Stripeify (his favourite music sharing service) nor as interesting as Rosanna’s Celebrity Gala Extravaganza Dot Com. But as he watched Brainstorm scrolling down while Ultra Magnus’s frown deepened, Blaster realized he could guess. After all, Blaster could go onto Rosanna’s any time he wanted to talk shop. 

Brainstorm didn’t really have anyone to talk about improbable weapons design with. Perceptor didn’t consider it to be “real science;” that was the gap between knowledge for knowledge’s sake and the art of applying that knowledge to make things. Whirl considered it to be real science, but after that incident in the left storage locker, the topic of weapons design was off-limits when Whirl was around. Brainstorm didn’t want to lose that connection to people who could share his enthusiasms, and Blaster could sort of understand that.

Particularly as he had a secret of his own.

“It’s, well, would you trust me when I say it’s here somewhere?” Brainstorm finished weakly. “So, what do you say, chief? Can I stay?”

Ultra Magnus sighed. “Brainstorm, I have no legal grounds on which to force you to surrender your login. That is an issue for the board moderators, should they catch you; there’s nothing in the Autobot Code forbidding your membership.”

“Yesss,” Brainstorm grinned.

“There is,” Ultra Magnus continued sternly, “a significant _moral_ question, though. At your hearing, Brainstorm, you told us that you wanted to remain an Autobot. You explicitly stated that you did not want to be badgeless. You explicitly stated that you did not want to be a Decepticon. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Brainstorm said warily.

“And is that still the case?” 

“Yes!”

“Then why do you want to retain membership on a board specifically for Decepticons and Decepticon sympathizers?”

Brainstorm was silent. 

And Blaster felt compelled to speak up. “That’s, ah, not exactly true. About the Decepticon sympathizers.”

Ultra Magnus raised an optic ridge. “Oh?”

“Yeah. There’s actually a few Autobots with accounts on this site.”

“Really.” Blaster wasn’t sure it was a question. Ultra Magnus looked more resigned than anything. Perhaps also a bit disappointed. As though he should have expected this outcome, and didn’t, and regretted learning better of his mistake.

“How’d they get them?” Brainstorm blurted out. Curiosity trumped everything; he was damaging his own case, but he obviously needed to know right away. “You’re supposed to show ID to get a log in.” 

Blaster smiled. “You just need to know the right folks in special ops.”

He leaned over, took control of the track pad and clicked on THE THEATRE.

**THE THEATRE**

Eucryphia (Moderator): “Towards Peace: The Musical”

SL0G: Nobody appreciates Modern Art 

Meister (Moderator): Recommend Your Favourite Music

Josh Boyfriend: Who wants to read my script (MOVED to “The Gallery”)

Punch Counter: Kilairian Holodramas

Eucryphia (Moderator): Eucryphia’s Classics Appreciation Thread

Twincast: Rosanna Fan Club Thread

StatlerVulture: Human television bites the big one

Doctor_Glit: GLIT’S KARAOKE THREAD

Ultra Magnus glanced questioningly at Blaster.

Blaster grinned. “Meister is Jazz. Punch Counter is our very own Punch. And Twincast is…” He winked. “Me.”

Magnus folded his arms. “On the assumption that you’re not all secret Decepticons, how did you…”

“Jazz got me an ident code.”

Blaster suspected Ultra Magnus did the facepalm thing a lot when dealing with Special Ops. Jazz’s methods were unorthodox at best, but almost always effective.

“So,” Blaster continued, “given that Brainstorm is _not_ the only Autobot aboard with a login at the Big Conversation, and given that _my_ record is clean and clear, there is either no moral objection to Autobots logging in to this site, or else I am equally suspect with Brainstorm.”

Ultra Magnus rubbed his optics. “Do I even want to know why you have a login on The Big Conversation?”

“It’s fifty percent keeping an optic on what the Cons are up to, and fifty percent that no matter how much their politics might stink, they got great taste in music.”

“See?” Brainstorm said. “It’ll be helpful for keeping track on what the former Decepticons are doing. The guys I used to talk to are scattering, getting new jobs, forming new alliances… Look, if anyone in The R&D Lab or The Armoury start talking about something cutting-edge and dangerous, I swear I’ll let you know about it. And I haven’t told anyone on the Big Conversation anything that isn’t basically common knowledge…”

Ultra Magnus looked through his fingers. “Spark. Eater. Gun.”

“There’s no way they can replicate it!” Brainstorm protested. “Not without CNA from an actual sparkeater. Where are they gonna get that?”

“Brainstorm,” Blaster hissed. “You’re gonna have to take a stricter definition of _common knowledge_ , okay?”


	7. This Is How I (T)Roll

~ Misfire ~

“Is this really what you want to be doing with your life?” Krok demanded. 

Misfire looked up from the laptop balanced on his knees and peered at his leader. On the screen, his almost-written post defended the existence of the Necrobot from the legion of skeptics who infested The Big Conversation. It took a moment for him to refocus his thoughts from the _obvious_ existence of the Chronicler of the Dead, who was _probably_ a ghost and _maybe_ also a Cryptkeeper or _possibly_ a destroying angel _,_ to his leader, who’d just asked him a pretty dumb question.

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Misfire said, slurping out of a can of energy drink with a sticker on the side labelled _Spinister’s—Touch and Die._

Krok let out a sound that was half intimidating growl and half sigh of utter frustration. “I give up,” he shouted, throwing his hands to the ceiling. “I give…the frag…up.”

Fulcrum poked his head into the room. “Hey, Krok, thought I heard something in here. You okay?”

“No, I’m _not_ okay,” Krok snapped. “Crankcase has locked himself in the cockpit again, Spinister has been sticking his tongue out at Grimlock for _three hours_ waiting for a reaction, and Misfire’s happy to spend the rest of his life posting garbage on The Big Conversation.”

“The Necrobot is _not_ garbage,” Misfire retorted, feeling a little irritated himself.

“And what about _you_?” Krok demanded of the K-Con. “What do _you_ want to do with the rest of your life, now that the war’s over?”

Fulcrum blinked. “I have no fragging idea.”

“See?” Krok asked the unseen figures in the ceiling. “See what I put up with?”

Misfire didn’t understand how Krok could deny the existence of the Necrobot and still do something that looked an awful lot like prayer.

“Sir,” Fulcrum said, “remember, up until a couple years ago, I didn’t think I was going to _get_ a “rest of my life,” and now that I _have_ , I want to take some time to…I don’t know. Explore the universe. Learn about stuff. Figure out who I am, and what I want out of life, and…you know. Find myself. After _that_ I’ll be able to make a smart decision about what I should do, but until then, I can either keep going the way I’m going now, or I can make a snap decision and commit to something that would be _definitely_ poorly-thought-out and _probably_ not really what I want to do with myself after all.”

Krok stared at Fulcrum. Blinked. Stammered, “Yeah, I….yeah…okay, that actually doesn’t sound entirely stupid. Yeah. Okay.”

“Sir, maybe you should take some time to yourself and relax,” Fulcrum suggested tentatively. “You look a little stressed.”

“That’s because I’m the one responsible for this crew full of _morons_ , and meanwhile my old unit are _frag_ knows where, getting into who the frag _knows_ what kind of trouble without me, and I gotta find them, and…” Krok clicked repeatedly on the broken comm unit in his hand.

“Sir,” Fulcrum said calmly. “Krok, you don’t have to do _either_ of those things _right this second_. Right now, you should…”

And that was where Misfire lost interest in the conversation.

Misfire quickly finished his post – _and if you don’t believe in the Necrobot, then wait till you die, you’re going to feel like a complete idiot then, and since you’ll be dead and can’t hear any more let me tell you right NOW: I told you so. Pinhead._ – and hit Enter.

Satisfied that his gruelling rebuttal was certain to convince any skeptics, Misfire wondered what was going on in another forum. Leaving General Discussion, he clicked on another favourite forum of his: 

**BEHIND THE SUPPLY SHED**

bluevsred: Recruiting for the Skeleton War

Tall_Tankor: Self-Hating Decepticons—Join Skullcruncher’s Legion Here

TheRealDJD: ur all on TEH L15T (MOVED from “The Enclave”)

Meister (Moderator): How Many Decepticons Does It Take To…

KREMZEEK: KREMZEEK!!!

redvsblue: Dead Autobot Jokes—Add Yours!

Misfire started giggling. Yep, that idea was still hilarious.

Fulcrum came and sat beside him. “What’s so funny?”

“Hey, loser.” Misfire didn’t know where Krok had gone, and didn’t particularly care. “Having some fun on The Big Conversation.”

Fulcrum tilted his head. “Y’know I really have to get around to making an account. A bunch of guys I know post in The R&D Lab, but so far I’ve just been a lurker.”

“Yeah, okay.” Misfire snickered some more and logged out.

“So….can I use the laptop?”

“When I’m done.”

“What? But you just logged out.” 

Misfire spluttered, “You think I’m posting in here as myself?” He lay his right hand over his fuel pump. “51Mf1r3_+h3_d3A+hbR1nG3r is a very serious person and I don’t want to wreck the rumour that has everyone thinking I’m Sixshot’s alt.”

“Primus preserve us, you’ve got an alt.”

“I have _twelve_ alts. Including one I’ve made just for this thread.”

Username: KREMZEEK

Password: KREMZEEKKREMZEEK

“What the hell are you doing?” Fulcrum asked, as Misfire clicked on the thread entitled KREMZEEK!!!

KREMZEEK: BEWARE KREMZEEK IS COMING! KREMZEEK!!

Twincast: what the frag

KREMZEEK: WHEN SOMEONE SAYS THE MAGIC WORDS!! KREMZEEK WILL BE UNLEASHED UPON THE BIG CONVERSATION!! KREMZEEK KREMZEEK!!!!

bluevsred: do you want to join my side in the skeleton war

KREMZEEK: KREMZEEK!!!1!

BRAWL: DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT

KREMZEEK: !K!R!E!M!Z!E!E!K!

StrategyNotTactics: he doesn’t want to fight, Brawl

so-high-above-you: this is why I don’t visit Behind the Supply Shed. This forum is full of idiots. ….have fun, Brawl

KREMZEEK: UNTIL SOMEONE SAYS THE MAGIC WORDS, KREMZEEK IS CONTAINED IN THIS THREAD! AFTER SOMEONE SAYS THE MAGIC WORDS, KREMZEEK WILL BE FREE!! TO WREAK HAVOC!! Kr3mz33k!!!!

***THE FASTEST***: Blurr is a gashole

redvsblue: give it up Drag Strip and stop spamming the board

kingoftheroad: Shut up Frenzy

redvsblue: I’m Rumble

bluevsred: No I’m Rumble

kingoftheroad: frag both of you

Misfire laughed and laughed. Fulcrum raised an optic ridge. “What the frag. Or do I not want to know?”

“You ever lurk Behind the Supply Shed?”

“Er…no. What even is this forum?”

“It’s a place with in-jokes and stuff. Things that are too goofy for the rest of the site. Any time something gets too silly but isn’t actually against the rules, the mods put it in here.”

“So what’s with this Kremzeek stuff?”

“I’m waiting for someone to say the magic words.” Misfire typed fast and then hit enter. 

KREMZEEK: WILL ANYONE DARE TO SAY THE MAGIC WORDS??? OR ARE U ALL TOO SCARED

Giggling, he hit reload. Again. Then again. And when he saw what he’d been hoping for, he threw back his head and laughed.

“What?” Fulcrum insisted.

Misfire tilted the laptop.

Tall_Tankor: what are the magic words

“I don’t get it?” Fulcrum said.

Snickering, Misfire took the laptop back.

KREMZEEK: YOU SAID “THE MAGIC WORDS” NOW KREMZEEK IS FREE!!! FREE TO RUN AMOK!!! HA HA HA HA!!!!

Misfire clicked on “Self-Hating Decepticons—Join Skullcruncher’s Legion Here,” scrolled to the bottom, and posted:

KREMZEEK: KREMZEEK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Misfire highlighted and copied his comment. Went back to the table of contents. Clicked on “How Many Decepticons Does It Take To…” Posted again.

KREMZEEK: KREMZEEK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“You’re gonna do this on every thread in Behind the Supply Shed,” Fulcrum said dryly.

“Nah.” Misfire giggled. “I’m gonna do this on every thread on the _site_.”


	8. An Afterlife Of Sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason this is the fic everyone on Tumblr wanted to see for Canada Day....so here it is.
> 
> This is a goofy fic, but I hope to do more of it in the future :)

 

~ Fulcrum ~

 

            “On the _site_?” Fulcrum repeated.  “Misfire, you’ll get banned.”

            “Nah,” Misfire said.  “The Kremzeek account will get banned, but I’m using a fake IP.”

            “How did you get a fake IP?”

            “Flywheels set it up.  Once he found Primus, he kept getting warnings for posting proselytizing threads and trying to convert people, so he rigged up this fake IP thing.  He was always really good at IT stuff.”

            “So then he got away with it?”

            “No, then they banned his user name.  He used the IP spoof again, made a new account under his real name, and then used it another bunch of times to create all these alts that he used for religious stuff.  They kept banning his alts, and he kept making new ones.”

            For a while, they sat together with Misfire pasting the Kremzeek message in thread after thread and Fulcrum thinking about Flywheels.  He wished he’d gotten to know the other mech a little better.  Now Flywheels was gone, and here was Misfire, still using the stuff Flywheels had set up.  It was an afterlife, of sorts.

            “All right,” Misfire said at last.  “That’s six pages of Behind the Supply Shed done.  Time to move on to the main forums.” Then he doubled over laughing.

            Fulcrum sighed.  “Dare I ask?”

            “I’m gonna…”  Misfire wiped his optics.  “I’m gonna…post in…all….”  Fulcrum couldn’t understand the rest of Misfire’s sentence.  Misfire laughed until he wheezed.

            “What?”

            “Gonna post in….all…Cryph’s…threads….”

            Fulcrum almost hated to ask.  “Who is Cryph?”

            Misfire cleared his throat and sat up straight.  “Eucryphia is the biggest gashole of all the mods on the Big Conversation.  He’s super strict about rules, and really mean, and his posts are all just huge essays about either how much he loves to lick Megatron’s skidplate, how much everyone else needs to shape up, or how classical music and opera are better than anything modern or Primus forbid, alien-influenced, and how he’s a morally better person for liking them.”

            “Wow, he sounds like a huge slaghead.”

            “Yeah.  And all the other Enforcers hate him, and he wants to be an administrator like, so damned bad, it’s actually pretty hilarious.  Every time a spot comes open he launches this huge campaign, and it’s never gonna happen because the owner and the other admins all know better than to give him any _more_ power.”

            “Can you fire someone from being a mod?”

            “You _can_ , but so far they won’t, because Cryph is the only guy who will stay up all night cleaning off threads from the kind of stuff I’m about to do.”

            “What the hell does Eucryphia do in real life that gives him that kind of time?”  Fulcrum had the sudden bizarre idea of Eucryphia being, well, a scavenger like him.  Flying around aimlessly in a little spaceship, killing time on The Big Conversation.  It was a weird and uncomfortable idea.  Fulcrum vowed he’d never become a gashole like that.

            “Who knows.  One of the admins says Cryph is probably some rear-echelon fragger with no rank, no power and no respect in real life, so he goes crazy on the internet.”

            “One of the admins says that, on the public part of the boards?”

            “Dude.  Admins outrank mods.”

            “Kinda rude, though, isn’t it?”

            “Also kinda true.”

            Fulcrum shrugged.  There was that.  And Decepticons were rarely known for pulling their punches.

            “Okay, here we go.”

            Fulcrum watched in morbid fascination as Misfire clicked on “The Enclave.”

**THE ENCLAVE**

 

SUBFORUMS  


TOWARDS PEACE

Discussion of Megatron’s philosophy goes here

 

WTF ARE THEY THINKING

Discussion of Autobot philosophy goes here.  WARNING.  Autobot apologists WILL BE BANNED.  If you are arguing devil’s advocate be aware of your phrasing and disclaim accordingly.

 

DISPOSABLE HEROES

MTO get-together form

 

M*M*M

One form only?  This is the forum for you.

 

FORGED IN FIRE

Born, not built?  This is your forum.

 

COLD AS STEEL

Built, not born?  This forum’s yours.

 

THE ARCHIVE  
Discussion of historical politics and philosophy.  WARNING.  Pro-Functionists WILL BE BANNED.  And tracked down IRL.  And shot.  Keep your shape hate to yourself.

 

ALIENS

Discussion of alien philosophy here

 

CONCLAVE

Everything else

 

            Misfire ignored all the subforums and just kept scrolling down to CONCLAVE, where he clicked.

 

Soundwave (Moderator):  What are we without Megatron?

StrategyNotTactics: Emperor Starscream (the We Are All So Fragged Thread)

Kaiju-Czar (Administrator):  Megatron the Autobot???

flywheels2in1:  who’s afraid of the DJD?

Cobalt_Cat (Moderator):  Our post-war legal status

Lord_Trannis (Administrator):  Shockwave did _what_?

kingoftheroad:  Camiens = Autobots??

felis_caligorum:  Does Megatron deserve punishment, and if so, what should it be?

Eucryphia (Moderator):  The Rebirth of the Decepticon Empire Begins Now

 

            Fulcrum watched as Misfire clicked on Eucryphia’s post, scrolled through five pages of comments—almost half of which were very long comments from Eucryphia himself—right to the end, where he added his own contribution.

 

KREMZEEK:  KREMZEEK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 


End file.
